


Yours For A Week

by JaydenJustice



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Gaming, M/M, Video & Computer Games
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 15:37:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3534824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaydenJustice/pseuds/JaydenJustice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dharvyd the Dragonborn impulsively hires a mercenary to protect him when trouble arises in Markarth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yours For A Week

**Author's Note:**

> Love me some Vorstag. Hate me some Markarth.
> 
> This is a work in progress - a little rough around the edges. Enjoy! ;)

I wished I'd never come to Markarth. Everywhere I turned, there were threats and conspiracies. People after me for obtaining too much information. People after me for not obtaining _enough_ information. The land was dark and decrepit, and so was the damned city.

As it was, I was on the run from a rather large orcish fellow named Gorgek, who didn't like the fact that I'd been asking about Mardargh, the King in Rags. Or rather, his employer didn't like my prying and sent his little dog after me. Well, _big_ dog. Gorgek had no weapons in sight, but judging by the size of his arms he didn't need them. I could do nothing anyway; my weapons had been taken from me during my almost-arrest.

I must have gained some distance on him, for I no longer heard his clumsy footsteps pounding on the cobblestone behind me. I took a chance and ducked behind the nearest building, seeking a door or a window. There was a dim murmur emanating from inside the building, which gave me the impression it was either an inn or a tavern. A lovely singing voice accompanied by a twittering flute served as an ironic contrast for my current dire situation. Hope plucked at my heart; an inn always had a back door.

As luck would have it, I located the door to the kitchen as Gorgek rounded the corner. His wordless shout was enough to tell me he'd seen me duck inside. I ignored the warnings of the cook and slipped through the kitchen into the commonroom. It was full, though most of the patrons were fixated on the pair performing their song on the far side of the large room. I crouched low and pressed back into a corner between a wall and a fireplace. I relaxed, fairly certain that no one had seen me hide, and allowed myself to sink into my surroundings to further secure my camoflage.

"Need help?" A soft voice nearby broke my concentration and I jumped. A man I hadn't seen when I entered stood leaning against the opposite side of my fireplace. A Nord, with his thick arms folded across his studded leather breastplate. He stared right at me.

A crash sounded in the kitchens, followed by a scream. That would be Gorgek. I glanced toward the kitchen, then toward the man that had spoken.

"Yes," I said, narrowing my eyes in suspicion. Surely he wasn't offering his assistance for nothing.

"Five-hundred gold," he said. "And I got your back."

I sighed and shook my head. "Mercenary."

Gorgek burst through the kitchen door with his fists clenched and the music stopped. A man and woman who had been standing behind the counter - the inkeepers, I guessed - moved forward to confront the orc.

"Where's the elf?" Gorgek shouted, scanning the room with a dumb expression. When the innkeepers expressed confusion at his request, he pushed through them, shoving them aside to fall on the ground.

"You're hiding him!" Gorgek roared and punched one of the wooden beams supporting the roof. It cracked in two and bowed outward.

I looked back at the mercenary, who was still watching me, and jerked my head in a nod. "Deal."

The mercenary returned my nod and smiled with one corner of his mouth. He drew his sword and the ring of steel rose above the rising voices in the commonroom. He approached the orc and squared his shoulders.

"No need to cause trouble," the mercenary said in his soft voice. Every pair of eyes in the room turned his way.

Gorgek turned slowly, incredulous that someone would stand up to him. He snorted, mucus spraying from his piggish snout, and clenched his fists in front of him. Did he mean to fight the armed Nord with fists alone?

I looked around for a way to help the mercenary. I spotted a belt hanging on a nearby coat rack, two sheathed daggers dangling from it. Grabbing one of the daggers, I melded with my surroundings as best I could in the commotion and stalked around the orc.

"You with the elf?" Gorgek growled.

"Doesn't matter," the Nord said. "You're disturbing these kind people. I don't like that."

A few of the patrons cheered him on, albeit nervously. One of the innkeepers slipped out the front door, likely to fetch a guard. Which meant I'd have to be done with this and gone before he returned with one.

I positioned myself behind the orc just as he swung a powerful blow toward the mercenary. The Nord jumped back and sliced out with his sword. Gorgek grunted and blood splattered on the wooden floor, but he maintained his stance. I watched the Nord carefully until he met my eye with a glance. He gave me a barely detectable nod, and I darted forward to sink my dagger into the orc's flank.

Gorgek howled and arched his back. He whirled around, taking my dagger with him. The orc swung his fists wildly, seeking whatever had caused him pain. When he laid his tiny eyes on me, his face lit up with feral glee. His snout crinkled with a grin.

Orcs were stupid. He'd just put his back to the man who'd challenged him. The Nord bent low and cut through the air, his blade slicing the back of Gorgek's knees, one right after the other. A gurgling cry echoed in the large room and the orc sank to his knees with a ground-shaking thud.

The innkeeper returned then. The crowd was thick enough that I could use them to my advantage and slip away. I had to get out of this cursed city. The Nord was watching me; no way he would let me skip out on my deal. I jerked my head toward the kitchen door and slinked out of the commonroom. I could hear the guards speaking to the orc, asking questions of the patrons. Someone mentioned an elf, and I tore through the back door and sprinted a few streets down before stopping.

The mercenary followed me the whole way. I could hear him. He wasn't as loud as the orc, but he wasn't quiet either. I crept behind a building and flopped against the wall, letting my body sink down until I sat on the cobblestone. The Nord knelt in front of me.

"Well, that was fun," he said with a smirk. He panted, a bead of sweat forming on the side of his neck.

I grunted in response and tossed him a small pouch. "There's at least five-hundred in there. Likely more. Keep it." He saved my life, after all. That had to be worth a few extra coins.

The mercenary caught the pouch and thanked me as he tucked it away. He sat on the ground next to me and rested his head back against the wall.

"What's next?" He asked.

I lifted my head to regard him. "Pardon?"

"You paid me," he said. "I'm yours for a week."

"Huh."

"Sorry. We didn't exactly have time to hash out the details of our arrangement." He rolled his head toward me and chuckled.

He had an infectious laugh. I found myself chuckling along with him. I got a better look at him out here in the fading sunlight. The Nord was big, with arms almost twice as big around as my own. He had a tangle of reddish hair, braided in several places, and a swirling tattoo encircling his right eye.

The mercenary looked like he'd seen better days. His armor was in disrepair, and his sword had a few pockmarks in the blade. He badly needed to shave. With the shape Markarth was currently in, he likely hadn't seen paying work in quite some time. My heart went out to him. I was suddenly glad I'd hired him, and not simply because he'd helped me.

"I'm Vorstag," he said, holding out a large hand.

"Dharvyd." I shook his hand. "You know, you don't have to stick around. I'm willing to call our deal even after you saved my hide."

"Now that wouldn't be honorable of me, would it?" He tilted his head to regard me with light brown eyes. "You trying to get rid of me?"

Yes, but I wasn't about to tell him that. "My main goal right now is to get as far away from this damned city as I can."

"Then we share the same goal," he said. "You just gave me the perfect opportunity to do it."

I opened my mouth to object, but a commotion flared up in the distance – back toward the inn. Time to get moving. Perhaps it _would_ be a good idea to keep him around, at least until I put a fair amount of steps in between myself and Markarth. I shot to my feet and looked to Vorstag.

"Where's the blacksmith?" I asked.

"Down the road a ways," he said, getting up and dusting off his hands. "But you'll find it closed. It's after dark."

Indeed it was. I'd lost track of time in the midst of all the excitement.

"I don't need it to be open," I said. Vorstag was about to discover what it meant to be in my employ. Maybe a night in my company was all it would take to drive him away.

At Vorstag's direction, I padded through the back streets of Markarth toward the blacksmith's shop. I cringed at the amount of noise he was making. We reached the building just as the blacksmith was locking up for the evening. She checked the door and trudged down the street, smoothing back soot-smudged hair with even blacker hands.

All the windows of the shop were dark. First checking for oncoming patrols, I went to the back door of the building, pulled out a few different lockpicks, and set to unlocking the door. Instead of the admonishment I expected from the mercenary, Vorstag took up a position that allowed him to view the street. The man was big, but he made an effort to stay hidden, pressing his back into the wall and poking an eye around the corner every now and then.

I blinked and watched him for a moment. Vorstag was keeping watch while I broke into the blacksmith's shop. I shook my head and returned my attention to the lock. It popped open with a _click_ , and I hissed softly to get the mercenary's attention.

We were in with the door shut in a matter of seconds.

"Stay here a moment," I said, keeping my voice hushed. I let my eyes adjust to the dark interior, then made a quick sweep of all the rooms to make sure no one was there. It was empty.

It didn't take me long to find the archery equipment. The shop was tidy and organized. Several bows – long and short, and even a couple of crossbows – hung on a wide weapon rack toward the far end of the shop. When I passed by the armor displays, I stopped for a moment. I turned back to Vorstag, who stood at the front window. He peered through a crack in the shutters at the street outside.

I lifted a breastplate off its display. It looked to be made of steel. "You should be wearing something heavier."

Vorstag chuckled. "If I could afford it, I would be."

"When you do things my way," I said. "You can afford anything. Here." I held the breastplate out and he lifted an eyebrow. "If you're mine for a week, you'd better stay alive until my time is up. Find a sword, too."

The mercenary took the breastplate with a nod, and I moved off to inspect the bows. They had nothing like my old elven bow, but I found a sturdy hunting bow that would do just as well. I packed a quiver full of arrows and slung it over my shoulder. For good measure, I belted on a pair of daggers. I still had my own armor – Gorgek and his cronies hadn't stripped me bare, at least.

When I turned back to Vorstag, he'd already strapped on the breastplate. He had a shield on his arm and tested one of the long swords, balancing it on his hand and arcing it through the air.

He glanced at me. "I like your way."

I clapped him on the shoulder. As I reached for the handle on the back door, I heard the telltale clank of armor outside, along with muffled voices. Vorstag and I flanked the back door and simultaneously drew our weapons. I knew well the authoritative tone of city guards when I heard them. And someone else was with them, claiming they saw "the elf" run this way.

Vorstag's whisper barely reached my ears. "Fight or flee?"

I watched him for a moment, my mind working through as many possible scenarios as I could in the span of a few heartbeats. Markarth as a whole already hated me. But it wasn't myself I was worried about. How far would a simple mercenary go to honor an impulsive contract still in its infancy?

He seemed to understand my hesitation, as he whispered, "I'm with you either way."

I jerked my head in a nod and readied my bow, glad I decided to keep him around.


End file.
